


Rebirth

by calenlily



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angel is bad at accepting that good things can happen to him, Episode: s05e22 Not Fade Away, Everybody Lives, F/M, Shanshu Prophecy, Temporary Character Death, The PTB are assholes even when they’re doing something good for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27520357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenlily/pseuds/calenlily
Summary: One by one, they fall. The last of his ragtag family, everyone brave and stubborn and foolish enough to stand by him, the battle takes them all. And then only Angel is left, and it’s almost a relief when his world dissolves into the flames of the dragon’s dying breath.He hopes for oblivion and braces himself for Hell, but finds himself instead in the hall beyond the Gateway of Lost Souls.
Relationships: Angel/Buffy Summers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30
Collections: Fic In A Box





	Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ancslove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancslove/gifts).



One by one, they fall. The last of his ragtag family, everyone brave and stubborn and foolish enough to stand by him, the battle takes them all.

They hold out nearly twice the ten minutes Illyria had scornfully predicted, cutting a respectable swath through Wolfram & Hart’s army of demons, but for every enemy felled there are a dozen more to take their place. The Old One herself is the first to go down, protecting Gunn as the man succumbs to his wounds. Spike is covering his back one minute and dust the next. And then only Angel is left, and it’s almost a relief when his world dissolves into the flames of the dragon’s dying breath.

He hopes for oblivion and braces himself for Hell, but finds himself instead in the hall beyond the Gateway of Lost Souls.

He stands before the Oracles, who he last saw slaughtered by Vocah four years ago, and all he can think to say is, “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Are you not also?” the male returns, cool and arrogant. In the years that Angel has missed being able to consult with the Powers’ conduit, he’d forgotten their tendency to make him feel like an insignificant bug.

Yes, he’s supposed to be dead on multiple levels. So why is he here?

Before he can form that thought into a coherent query, the female speaks. “Congratulations, Champion, you have earned your reward.”

Angel gapes at them, uncomprehending. “What do you mean, reward?”

The Oracles proceed to explain, in that condescending way they have, that by signing away his Shanshu – by continuing to fight with no promise of reward, no allies left, and no hope of winning – he had in fact secured it.

He kind of loses it then. After everything that’s happened in the past year, all the losses and concessions and necessary bargains that make his soul feel unclean, he neither wants nor deserves a reward, and being told to go be human and be happy now feels more akin to a slap in the face. Fighting the good fight is the only thing left that has any meaning to him, his only hope of making amends for all the harm he has caused, and they would take that away from him?

So he rages at the Oracles, and all the uncaring Powers they represent: tells them that he will be their warrior but not their plaything, and if anyone deserves a reward it’s not him but all those who have died fighting his battles. Where do they get off acting like this is going to fix anything, he demands. The air of impassive superiority with which they regard his rant only feeds his fury.

And then they tell him that this was a test too.

“You remain a Champion.” “Bother us no longer,” they tell him, and unceremoniously eject him from the dimension while he is still sputtering in disbelief.

*

Angel opens his eyes on the steps of the Hyperion as the sun is rising, and barely registers that he isn’t burning, too overwhelmed by the sea of faces surrounding him: Wes and Gunn, all trace of their death wounds vanished. Fred is herself again, and Spike isn’t burning either, and Cordelia turns her thousand-watt smile on him.

Doyle looks around with an appreciative whistle as his friends usher him inside. “Nice digs, man. Looks like you’ve moved up in the world.”

*

It quickly becomes clear that “You remain a Champion” means Angel has kept his supernatural strength and healing factor, and the visions have returned to Doyle’s custody. They set up shop in the hotel again, and after navigating Wolfram & Hart’s twists and turns he doesn’t think he’ll ever take for granted the simple mission of working cases and helping the helpless. 

He has lunch with Connor once a week, now the boy is home from college for the summer – and by a month in, his son no longer expects an imminent apocalypse when he shows up, so he figures that’s progress.

All the same, he spends weeks just waiting for the other shoe to drop, because in his experience the Powers don’t give rewards like this; there has to be a catch. It was all too easy.

“Too _easy_?” Cordelia repeats in disbelief when he makes the mistake of saying so aloud. “You have no idea how many strings I pulled for you, mister, so you better appreciate it!” For all she’s enjoying her return to the life she’d had ahead of her, she wouldn’t be Cordelia if she didn’t take every opportunity to rub everyone’s noses in the fact that she used to be Ascended.

Doyle raises his eyebrows and shrugs as if to say ‘you ought to listen to the lady’ before following her out of the room. Angel sighs, and reminds himself to keep his thoughts on the matter private in the future.

*

Doyle and Wesley corner him in his office one afternoon: the first friend who was really his, and the one who’s stood by him longest. (Because Spike decidedly does not count. Whatever many things the two ex-vampires are to each other, “friend” has never been a fitting label.)

“What’s up?” Angel inquires warily. There’s something about their set expressions that puts him on edge.

“We’ve all been talking,” Wes starts. “And –”

Doyle cuts in. “We’re worried about you, man.”

“Well, don’t be,” Angel protests. “I’m fine. I’m good. Better than I’ve ever been.”

“Is that really true?” Wes says dubiously. “Angel, you’ve barely changed your routines. You don’t have the sunlight allergy and blood habit to hide behind any longer; it’s time you started living in the world.”

“Last time you were human, you knew exactly what you wanted, and it took you less than a day to go for it,” Doyle puts in. “I can’t believe who you are or what you care about has really changed that much. Take some chances.”

Angel glares at him, at them both, because he knows exactly what they’re angling at. Why do men in love always feel the need to push it on everyone around them?

Last time he was human, it had been a fluke, an accident of demon’s blood, and so he couldn’t accept it. This time, it’s supposed to be destiny – and that makes it even harder to accept, because he can’t believe he deserves any of it.

“I’m more than grateful for you guys, for everything I’ve been given. But it’s already too much; I can’t ask for more. I still have a lot to atone for,” Angel attempts to explain.

“Get over yourself,” Wes snaps. “It’s past time you stopped wallowing in guilt and allowed yourself to be happy.”

“I _am_ happy,” Angel insists, and mostly means it.

He has his humanity, and his strength and purpose still. He has more family than he knows what to do with. He has everything he’s ever wanted – save for one thing.

Save for the woman who was always his reason for fighting, for becoming, for wanting any of it in the first place.

He thinks about her, of course. He’s thought about her every day, and more since Nina came back to LA but didn’t want to see him and he couldn’t blame her for it, since Cordelia made it clear that she wasn’t going to take Doyle for granted this time around, since Spike booked himself a flight to Rome and left with a last taunt.

But Buffy isn’t a prize to be awarded, and she has a life of her own, a life that hasn’t included him for years, and the last time he saw her she’d asked for room to find herself without jealous exes hounding her. So as much as he thinks about it, he doesn’t contact her.

*

A week later, she shows up on his doorstep.

She looks beautiful. She looks pissed.

He ushers her into his office, because he knows half his staff are waiting just out of his line of sight to see what’s going to go down.

“Hello, Angel,” Buffy says too sweetly. “Long time, no see. Care to tell me why I had to find out you’re human now from Spike of all people?”

Angel winces. “I didn’t want to intrude,” he says lamely. “You told me you needed time to bake.”

“And _you_ told _me_ you weren’t getting any older,” she shoots back, not missing a beat. “I think it’s obvious circumstances have changed. But even if I’m not worthy of personal news, I thought we were at least on calling for apocalypses terms. I could have provided reinforcements, or a second front, or, I don’t know, anything other than finding out you’d taken on a suicide mission after the fact!”

“Andrew and Giles both made it clear that I was persona non grata with the Council and no aid would be available for me and mine. What would be the use in asking again?” Angel doesn’t bother trying to disguise the bitterness in his voice. Though the worst consequences have been negated, there is no erasing the pain of allies he thought he could trust turning their backs on his need nor the memory of the pointless suffering caused by that betrayal.

“Okay, the first thing you need to know about Andrew is that his idea of what’s true has a very malleable relationship to reality. And I know you hadn’t met him before to know that, but from what I understand Spike was there too and _he_ at least should have known better than to take Andrew at face value.”

“And Giles?” he asks coolly.

“Giles....” She sighs heavily. “I’m sorry about Giles. I’m not too happy with him right now, and neither is Willow. For what it’s worth, Ms. Calendar shouted some sense into him, and when the gypsy has to take you to task for holding grudges it’s not a pretty thing. You and your team have the Council’s full support now, though I warn you they may have designs on luring Wesley back.”

Angel blinks. “Jenny Calendar. Is alive?”

“Yeah, that one threw us for a loop, too,” Buffy admits. “From what I can tell, someone higher up must really like you, Angel. Anyway, my point was, you could have called _me_. Are we really that much of strangers now?”

There’s such sorrow in her eyes that he forgets his grievances and reaches out to her. When he takes her hand, he’s surprised to realize she’s paler than him now.

He’s not sure how to respond to her last question, so he comments instead, “You’ve lost your tan.”

“I do still work nights,” Buffy quips. “And, you know, not a lot of opportunity for sunbathing in England.”

“England?” he repeats stupidly.

“Yeah, that’s where the Council headquarters – oh, right,” she starts, then cuts herself off in sudden understanding. “Yeah, the Slayer in Rome’s a decoy Buffy. I tried to tell them it was a stupid idea. But I gotta say, I never expected you of all people would fall for it. I kinda thought you would always know me.”

They really have become strangers, he thinks regretfully, wondering how so many misunderstandings had cropped up and when their lines of communication had become so hopelessly fouled. “Maybe if I’d ever actually crossed paths with ...ah, her, I _would_ have known,” Angel suggests, the only reassurance he can offer. He’d always thought he’d know her anywhere too. “But we were always one step behind, and with the things we’d been hearing it was a little too easy to listen to fear.” He pauses momentarily before another thought occurs to him. “So does that mean you and the Immortal were never...?”

“Of course not! Please, give me credit for better taste than that.”

“After _Spike_ , I’m not sure what to credit to your taste,” he retorts. Which he knows is a bit of a low blow, but it’s also the truth. “...How is Spike these days, anyway?”

“Having a grand time annoying the Council, but otherwise doing his best to drink and fight his way back into an early grave. I’m afraid he’s finding being a real boy isn’t everything he hoped for.”

“Then why aren’t you over there helping him through it?” he can’t help asking.

Buffy smiles sadly. “I’ve tried, but my presence seems to be salt in the wound half the time. He and Faith have been getting along scarily well lately, though, and I think it’s helping. I think he’ll be alright once he finds his feet.”

“That’s ... good, I guess,” he says, because however much of a nuisance the blond may be, he’ll always be family, and after everything Angel finds he cannot wish him ill. He’s not sure how else to respond. None of this is what he expected.

Buffy huffs. “We’re not together, if that’s what you’re fishing for. Spike and I manage to be pretty good friends, some of the time, but we make shit lovers. What he is to me is ... more complicated than I know how to explain even to myself, but I’ve never been able to love him the way he wants.”

That should be a reassurance, but somehow it just manages to throw him even more off balance. “Buffy, why are you here?” he demands, before this meeting can get any more confusing.

“You’re both idiots, you know that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you are,” Buffy declares, exasperated. “Him for thinking a heartbeat was the key to winning me, just like he thought getting his soul would be, and you for thinking none of it would be enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“What was it you told me I deserved, senior year? Someone who could take me into the light, I think it was, someone who could make love to me? Or maybe I’m misremembering; it’s not like that conversation is permanently burned into my brain or anything,” she says sarcastically.

“I remember it too,” he says.

“You were the one who decided that what you could offer me wasn’t enough, Angel. All I ever wanted was you. I can’t claim I was ever over the moon about the prospect of a sexless relationship, but I was willing to work around the curse, and I damn sure never cared about the rest of it. Well, you meet your own qualifications now, and yet I had to fly across the globe because you still couldn’t be bothered to reach out.”

“You asked for space,” Angel protests. “It wouldn’t have been fair of me to assume you’d welcome me back into your life.”

“So don’t assume, but you could have asked! In any case, I’m telling you now I would. Sunlight and sex seem to have become non-issues; got any more stupid roadblocks to throw up?”

“I’m not exactly a safe person to be around,” Angel says, because apparently he doesn’t know when to quit. “I’ve made a lot of enemies. People tend to die around me.”

“Yeah, try that one on someone who’s not at the center of an endless war. I’ve had more than my share of losses myself. And recently it seems like an awful lot of people _live_ around you. Believe me, I could have used some of those cheap and easy resurrections you’ve got in such abundance when I was digging my way out of my own grave and then spending the next year trying anything to numb the pain to keep from wanting to crawl back in, or when we were trying to stop Willow from going off the deep end over how damn senseless Tara’s death was.”

The bitterness in her voice makes him regret his words at once. He swallows thickly. “I am sorry for your losses. I never expected any of this, and while I wouldn’t give it back if I could, because none of them deserved to die for me, I can’t claim to have done anything to deserve it for myself.”

“I know,” she says. “I’m glad you have your family back, and I truly don’t begrudge you your good fortune. I’m just being bitchy.”

“You’re not bitchy.”

“No, I am, and that tells me this whole thing was a bad idea. I thought that just maybe, since things are different for you, things could be different for us. But you know what? Forget about it. There’s always going to be another excuse. It’s time I grew up and recognized there’s just something about me that pushes people away, so I’ll quit bothering you now.”

She rises and is halfway out the door before he finds the presence of mind to move or speak. “No, Buffy, wait! Don’t go.”

She pauses. Regards him warily. “Does that mean there’s a reason to stay?”

He crosses the distance between them in two long strides to pull her into his arms. “I love you. I don’t know if that’s reason enough, but it’s all the reason I have. I love you, and I swear there is nothing wrong with you; I never meant to make you feel inadequate. It’s only that I can’t believe I’ve done anything to deserve any of what I have now, and that makes it hard to accept, let alone to dare ask for more, and you have always been worthy of so much more than me.”

“It’s a pity they couldn’t evict your guilt complex along with the demon,” Buffy says. “Look, Angel, forget about what I deserve. What about what I _want_?”

“What do you want?”

“I want the freaky love that fits into my freaky life. I want the forever that you promised me once.”

Angel gives her a wry smile. “I don’t have forever to offer anymore; I’ve only got the one life to live. And, full disclosure, I still can’t offer you much outside demons and darkness, because the fight is still my life. But I’d be honored if you’d share it with me.”

“Hey, I can’t offer anyone a life outside demons and darkness either. If you’re looking for normal, I’m not it,” she says, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “But if you’re in the market for a partner in the good fight? I’m still your girl.”

*

Buffy moves back to LA within the month. To everyone who asks, she says it’s past time the Council reestablished an American presence, and Dawn’s starting at Stanford in the fall so she ought to stay close, and besides she missed California weather.

Those excuses would be more believable if she didn’t immediately move herself into Angel’s suite at the Hyperion.


End file.
